


Blitzbee Unsolved Network

by suna_scribbles



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Halloween, Haunted Houses, M/M, Sort Of, Spooky, buzzfeed unsolved au, i dont know how to tag this man, spooky stupid halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:36:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: Two idiots, one large not-haunted post-war hospital. Because Cybertronian ghosts aren't a thing. Right?





	Blitzbee Unsolved Network

**Author's Note:**

> a goofy lil halloween fic i wanted to write, loosely based on the bfu au. because spooky stupid idiots.

“I don’t know about this,” Bumblebee said, his digits fidgeting nervously as he stared at the looming building ahead of them. It had clearly been abandoned for quite some time, the metal walls creaking under even the gentlest of Cybertronian breezes, dim streams of moonlight streaming through the thick, splintered windows. The clouds hanging low in the sky certainly didn’t help the ambiance, and Bumblebee found himself shuddering at the thought of entering. “Not really an ideal date spot you picked out here, Blitzy.”

“Don’t be a whiny aft,” Blitzwing said brightly, his serrated grin glowing violently crimson as he stared at the building with pure joy shimmering in his optics. “You _said_ you wanted to try something new, didn’t you? _Didn’t you?_”

“Yeah, and I was thinking maybe a new bar or something, not urban exploration,” Bumblebee grumbled. “Can’t you just be normal for, like, once?”

“No,” Blitzwing said, snickering and patting on Bumblebee’s back in a gentle attempt to urge him forward. “If you don’t, I’m gonna call you a scaredy cat for the rest of your life!”

“You _wouldn’t._”

“I _would!_”

Bumblebee groaned, ensuring that his displeasure was obvious, but he forced himself to walk toward the door nonetheless, testing the massive doorknob with trembling digits. Every part of his frame wanted to scream and run—he’d never considered himself to be the bravest when it came to spooky areas such as this—but he knew better than to ignore Blitzwing’s threats at eternal insult. They’d been together for centuries now, and Blitzwing _still_ threw around the term “crybaby” with far more leniency than Bumblebee would have liked.

_Stupid Marley,_ Bumblebee thought bitterly as he tried to doorknob: locked, of course. _Any sane mech would cry during that stupid movie._

“The door’s locked,” Bumblebee announced with a shrug, praying that he could be let off the hook. “Guess we gotta go home. Bummer.”

“Nonsense!” Blitzwing said, peering through one of the shattered windows with far too much excitement than Bumblebee would’ve liked. “Let’s just climb in a window!”

“_No!_ Can’t we just go to Maccadam’s?” Bumblebee begged. “Blurr’s got some kind of new cocktail, and I really wanna—”

“Scaredy cat!” Blitzwing hummed.

“_Am not!_”

“Scaredy cat, scaredy cat, meow, meow, meow,” Blitzwing said, stuffing his fist through a window with a loud _crash._ “Bumblebee is a big old scaredy cat!”

“_Shut up!_ And don’t break the fragging windows! The hell is your problem?”

“_Meow!_”

“_Fine!_” Bumblebee threw his servos up in defeat and plodded angrily toward the freshly smashed hole, shaking his helm. “But when we get arrested, _you’re_ going to take the blame for this. Frag knows I’m not going to jail just because my idiot boyfriend thinks that freaky abandoned buildings count as a _date._”

_Whirr._ “You said you wanted to do something more exciting for once,” Blitzwing said matter-of-factly, wearing a rather smug smirk across his blue face. “Is this not exciting?”

“I meant—ugh. Never mind,” Bumblebee muttered. He stomped moodily to the window and lifted his arms, trying to grab at the sill. “Give me a boost, big guy.”

Blitzwing snorted—whether with amusement or satisfaction, Bumblebee didn’t want to know. A quick swoop of Blitzwing’s hands later, and Bumblebee was clambering through the window, his pedes landing on the ground with a quiet _crunch._

“Ugh,” he whispered, stepping aside so Blitzwing could squeeze himself through the thankfully Decepticon-sized opening. “What _is_ this place?”

“A hospital, as far as I’m aware,” Blitzwing said, his height dwarfed even by the cavernous, endlessly dark ceilings, too tall for Bumblebee to even properly make out the edges. “One used during the Great War. I believe it’d been slated to be demolished.”

“Good,” Bumblebee said with a shudder. “Can we just look around and go, then? This place gives me a weird feeling.”

“I’m sure it does,” Blitzwing said, lowering his voice ominously. “Many mechs saw their last days between these walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“_Don’t,_” Bumblebee said, flushing as he heard a loud crack in his voice. “Don’t do that. You’re not gonna scare me, so don’t even try. It’s just some worn out old building, and ghosts aren’t real.”

“Who said anything about ghosts?” Blitzwing said snidely, taking one of Bumblebee’s servos in his own and leading him forward.

“You implied it!” Bumblebee snapped.

“It’s roughly October back on Earth,” Blitzwing said quietly, his pedes crunching quietly over broken glass and Primus only knows what else littering the floor. “Near Halloween. The day where humans say the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest.”

“Yeah, but we’re not on Earth, and there’s no stupid _veil_ between us and the Well of Allsparks,” Bumblebee said, hating that the very implication sent a shiver down his spine. “Stop trying to freak me out and let’s find something cool so we can go _home._”

_Whirr._ “How about the morgue?” Blitzwing said, his scarlet grin splitting his face in two.

“_No,_” Bumblebee practically yelled. “Not a fragging chance.”

“But you said you don’t believe in scary ghosts!” Blitzwing whined. “Don’t be a scaredy cat!”

“I don’t, but I don’t want to piss them off if they _are_ real!” Bumblebee said. “No morgues!”

“Scaredy—”

“Please, don’t.”

“_Scaredy c—_”

Bumblebee sighed as loudly as he could, wrenching his servo from Blitzwing’s grip. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Blitzwing said, his face spinning to blue with another _whirr._ “Come.”

Bumblebee swallowed hard, slipping his servo back into Blitzwing’s and gripping it with vice-like strength, trying to conceal the fact that he was already beyond nervous. Scary things were best left behind television screens, and even then, they gave Bumblebee an uncomfortable knot deep in his tanks, a ball of fear that probably would probably leave him shivering in Blitzwing’s arms later tonight.

He didn’t like to think himself as easy to scare, but as the duo walked past a series of boarded up doors with nothing but gaunt blackness behind their windows, Bumblebee had to force a restart of his ventilation system. _Anyone would be creeped out by a place like this,_ he thought, glancing at the peeling paint on the walls, the cracked pipes that snaked below their pedes. _You’re totally normal for being scared. It’s fine. Blitzwing’s just stupid for not being scared, that’s all._

Though the mental reassurance did little to ease Bumblebee’s processor as they approached a staircase, at which he immediately halted and shook his helm. “No way,” he said shakily, staring into the black void that seemed to devour the stairs halfway through their descent. “_No fragging way._ I’m not gonna die tonight.”

“You worry too much,” Blitzwing said airily.

“There might be bodies down there!” Bumblebee said shrilly, fighting against Blitzwing’s grip as it tried to coax him onto the first step. “Or some kind of dormant plague from the war! I heard about the biological warfare, and I’m _not_ getting involved in that, uh-uh. Nope. Not happening.”

“You’re just scared because it’s dark,” Blitzwing sighed. “If it was daytime, you wouldn’t have any issues at all.”

“A bold assumption!” Bumblebee said. “I changed my mind—you can call me a scaredy cat, I don’t care. I’m not going down there. That’s hell down there and you know it.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“And apparently you have a death wish!”

“If there were any indications of physical threats like disease in here, then the building would be condemned,” Blitzwing said shortly. “I don’t plan to put you in harm’s way. Though I will admit, your fear of the unknown is much more amusing than I thought it would be.”

“Great! Amusement felt, adventure had! So now we can leave!” Bumblebee said.

“Admit that you’re afraid of ghosts, then,” Blitzwing said snidely. “Because there is nothing here that can threaten you except them.”

“I’m _not!_”

“Fantastic. Then we can go.”

Bumblebee shrieked as Blitzwing abruptly scooped him from the floor, pounding his fists against the arms that easily encapsulated his entire frame. “Hey—no!” he screamed, panicking as Blitzwing started to move carefully down the steps, each one groaning in protest under their combined weight. “No! _No!_ Okay, fine! I’m scared of ghosts! I’m super freaked out by them and I don’t wanna see any! Let’s _go!_”

_Whirr._ “Too late,” Blitzwing sang cheerfully, picking up the pace despite Bumblebee’s increasingly violent protests. 

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Bumblebee said, his voice dropping low as the darkness swallowed their frames, his HUD frantically trying to search for a pinprick of light to focus on. “No, no, no. Frag no. _No._ I hate this so much. I hate _you_ so much. I _hate_ you.”

“This is payback for making me listen to you whine during scary movies,” Blitzwing said cruelly, his wide scarlet grin giving off just enough light to illuminate the painfully narrow walls of the staircase.

“I’ll never make you watch one again,” Bumblebee pleaded, dropping his voice to a mere hush, optics spinning around as he searched for _something_ to look at in the all-encompassing darkness. “Please, let’s just go. Please, please, _please,_ I hate this so much, let’s _leave._”

“Hush, little one,” Blitzwing giggled. “They’ll hear you.”

Bumblebee whimpered, too afraid to hold onto his pride, clinging to Blitzwing’s arm as the ground beneath them flattened. Blitzwing’s face spun with a _whirr,_ and after some quiet shuffling, Bumblebee felt something small and cylindrical press into his servo.

“What’s this?” he asked nervously, fiddling with the device and wincing as a blindingly bright white light suddenly ignited in his face. Blitzwing was smirking widely, a flashlight in his palm and aimed at Bumblebee.

“A flashlight, moron,” he said. “Shall we find the morgue?”

“Hell no, we shouldn’t,” Bumblebee grumbled, fiddling with his flashlight for a moment before finding the switch and flicking it on. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever done. Seriously. The _worst._”

“Doubtful, but the sentiment is appreciated,” Blitzwing said sarcastically. Bumblebee squirmed in defiance, but Blitzwing had no issues lowering the minibot to the floor before brushing his flashlight down the hall.

Bumblebee’s tanks dropped into his aft—somehow, the basement was even worse than upstairs. The decor was just as decrepit, doors lining the hall and barred with thick slabs of wood and metal, rust caked to the walls, crumbled concrete littering the floor. Bumblebee tried to brush away the thought that some of the holes in the wall looked as though they may have been dug by servos, the hard material caving under metal alloy fingers whose owners were too weak to make their way to safety.

“No,” he repeated. “No, no. No way. I hate this so much. This was just a hospital, right? Like, just a normal hospital for sick mechs?”

“Sick in frame and in processor, yes,” Blitzwing said mysteriously.

Bumblebee feared that his tanks were going to fall straight out of him. “_In the processor?_”

“War can take a toll on a mech,” Blitzwing said. “It’s safe to assume that many of the mechs that lost their lives here may not have been sane.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bumblebee whispered. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Fine, go alone,” Blitzwing said with a grin. “I’ll be down here for a few more hours.”

Bumblebee paused before scowling. “I hate you so much.”

Blitzwing merely chuckled, aiming his light toward the end of the hallway and pointing. “I believe the morgue will be that way,” he said. “Come.”

“I _hate_ you,” Bumblebee repeated. “I hate you _so much._”

Stubborn as he was, Bumblebee had no intentions of being alone in a place like this, and he found himself quickly rushing after Blitzwing with his flashlight on its brightest setting. The walls sighed around him, cold and untouched for what must have been eons. Rust streaked from the ceiling to the ground, a quiet _plip plip_ of dripping water echoing through a silence that was only pierced by the sound of Blitzwing’s heavy footfalls.

Trying to calm his nerves, Bumblebee paused at a door, pressing his light to the viewing slot in an attempt to peer inside. The room seemed to be mostly empty, save for a couple of berths pressed to the walls in various states of decay and strange devices drilled into the ceilings. Bumblebee had seen some of them in Ratchet’s medbay before, but they seemed so much more _ominous_ as they rotted in the darkness, unusable now but once active on a mech with only hours of life left.

_Why the hell do I keep thinking stuff like that?_ Bumblebee thought with a shudder, hurrying back to where Blitzwing was staring eerily at a wall.

“Babe?” Bumblebee asked tensely, awful memories of _The Blair Witch Project_ jabbing at his processor. “You good?”

“I’m reading a sign, idiot,” Blitzwing said. “The morgue is down the hall and to the left, it seems. But the letters are rather faded.”

“Oh. Cool,” Bumblebee said, trying to laugh his nervousness away. “Uh, lead the way, I guess?”

“Coward.” Blitzwing leaned down to drop a less than reassuring kiss on Bumblebee’s helm before taking his hand, squeezing it ever so slightly. Bumblebee didn’t even feel slightly comforted by the action, twitching every time he heard the awful _plink_ of distant dripping water—why was there even water down here?

“This place sucks so bad,” Bumblebee whispered, keeping his flashlight pointed directly forward, all of his sensors on pins and needles as he searched for any sights of movement. “I hate this so much.”

“Do you? You haven’t mentioned it, so I wasn’t sure,” Blitzwing said dryly.

The beam from Blitzwing’s flashlight dragged over a handrail, casting a brief shadow across the hall that nearly scared Bumblebee to death, his servo crushing Blitzwing’s as he feverishly rationalized the sudden change in atmosphere. “I hate this,” he wheezed. “I hate this, I _hate this._”

“Quiet, or the ghouls will hear you.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Bumblebee shuddered as they rounded a corner, watching as the doors to ancient patient rooms grew less and less frequent, replaced with what must have been offices or storage areas. The signs were impossible to read and the dripping sound was driving Bumblebee mad, every sound setting him on the highest of alerts.

“You can’t deny that this is rather cool,” Blitzwing said, rubbing his thumb along Bumblebee's digits comfortingly. “Thousands of soldiers were here, millions of years ago. The stories told between these walls must have been incredible.”

Bumblebee blinked a few times, praying for the morgue’s appearance so they could _leave already._ “I guess,” he muttered. “I sure as slag don’t want to hear any of them right now, though, that’s for sure.”

“You’re telling me that if a ghost approached you, even if it had no negative intentions, you’d still be afraid?” Blitzwing asked.

“Slag yeah I would! Dead mechs should stay dead! If I can see through them, I _don’t_ want to have a conversation with them.”

“But what if—”

“No. No ghosts. No _nothing._ No conversations with anyone right now that isn’t you.”

“I think it’d be fascinating.”

“You’re _insane._”

The banter did little to calm Bumblebee’s frayed nerves, but it distracted him enough that he barely realized that Blitzwing had walked him directly into the morgue. The room was small and incredibly dark, the depth of the blackness so vast that Bumblebee instinctively flicked on his headlights and immediately gasped.

“Oh, _no,_” he said aloud. “Oh, no, no, _no,_ no _fragging way._”

“Fragging way,” Blitzwing said, his crimson grin splitting his face in two. “Isn’t this _cool?_”

Bumblebee shook his helm frantically, optics locked forward. His headlights were shining directly on a set of nearly-square metal doors, each of them fitted with a massive rusted handle and splattered with what Bumblebee prayed was paint. One of them hung _open,_ so incredibly deep and dark that Bumblebee couldn’t see the back wall even when he shined his flashlight directly into it.

“That is _fragged,_” Bumblebee whispered, taking a few steps back.

“Climb into it!”

“_Are you insane?_ Dead bodies have been in there!”

“So?” Blitzwing took a few casual steps forward, pushing on the door and filling the room with an echoing, sensor-quaking _creak._ “It’s empty now, so who cares?”

“You’re gonna get the fragging plague and I’m gonna laugh at you,” Bumblebee said anxiously.

“No, just possessed,” Blitzwing snickered evilly.

“Don’t even _joke_ about that!”

“Don’t be such a whiny baby butt,” Blitzwing said, sticking an arm into the storage rack. “Oooh, look at me! I’m poking a ghost!”

“_Stop!_” Bumblebee said. “For frag’s sake! You’ve lost your mind!”

“It’s just an old shelf, stupid!” Blitzwing cackled, tapping brightly from one pede to the other.

“Yeah, well, don’t tempt fate!”

Blitzwing laughed as he retracted his arm from the shelving unit, waving toward it invitingly. “Your turn,” he said. 

“_Absolutely not._”

“It’s just a stupid hole in the wall! Put your arm in there!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“_No!_”

Blitzwing’s face spun to red, a scowl plastered on his features. “_Don’t be a wuss!_” he shouted. “Put your arm in there!”

“Don’t be an _aft!_” Bumblebee yelled back. “I’m not doing anything that’s gonna get a ghost stuck to me! I, for one, enjoy _sleeping_ without demons chewing on my pedes!”

_Whirr._ “Who said demons chew on pedes?” Blitzwing asked brightly. “Does that make _me_ a demon?”

“I’m not even going to _ask_ for elaboration on that,” Bumblebee muttered. “Can we just go? This place is seriously giving me the heebie jeebies. I feel like we’re being _watched._”

“Wuss,” Blitzwing pouted.

But it was true—the unease in Bumblebee’s spark had been mounting by the minute, and he repeatedly felt a strange urge to glance over his shoulder. It felt as though optics were burning into his plating, watching him from just meters away, practically breathing down his neck. Every sensor in Bumblebee’s frame was firing on all cylinders, his spark pounding in his chassis, his armor prickling with discomfort. To ease the tension, he did venture a look behind him, but all he was met with was a musty, stained wall.

Which only made him feel _worse._

“Okay, fine, I’m a wuss,” Bumblebee grumbled. “I don’t like spooky stuff when it’s real, okay? Can we just go? I really don’t like it in here. Something feels… I don’t know. Something feels _wrong._”

_Whirr._ “You’re just nervous,” Blitzwing said with cold reassurance. “Come on. Let’s walk around for a few more minutes. I’ll prove to you that there’s nothing wrong with this place except your imagination.”

Bumblebee wanted desperately to protest, but he knew that arguing would be futile at best. And if nothing else, Blitzwing seemed to be having a good time, so that was at least one benefit of this Primus-forsaken building.

He glanced over his shoulder one more time before sighing begrudgingly. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Just a few minutes.”

Though he immediately regretted his decision, because Blitzwing’s grin quickly cracked his face in half, and he was darting out the door before Bumblebee could even react.

“Hey!” Bumblebee snapped, running after Blitzwing’s footsteps, the light from his flashlight swinging against the watery walls. “Get back here, you giant brat! Don’t leave me!”

“Catch me if you can!” Blitzwing sang, somewhere down the hall to Bumblebee’s left. Bumblebee spun on his heel and ran after it, his vents whirring with a mix of strain and fear.

“You’re the fragging worst, Blitzbrain!” Bumblebee yelled. “Come back here! Where’d you go?”

_He’d lost the fragger._ Bumblebee stopped running for a moment, panting, whipping his flashlight from left to right, trying to make sense of the winding hallways. Blitzwing’s heavy footfalls echoed from somewhere to his right, but the echo threw Bumblebee’s sense of direction off entirely, and a few quick turnarounds did nothing to help him make sense of the room.

And then Blitzwing’s footsteps faded, leaving Bumblebee alone in the silent, twisting maze of hallways.

“Blitzwing?” he called shakily, his flashlight casting its thin white stream down a hallway, the light swallowed after travelling for just a few meters. “Blitzwing? Come on, this isn’t funny! Come back here!”

No response. Bumblebee bit his lip, spinning around once again, his spark thumping harder and harder. Why did it still feel like he was being _watched?_

“It’s just your nerves,” Bumblebee whispered to himself, glancing over both shoulders, optics filling with nothing but darkness and rust. “Just calm down, Bee. Find the exit and wait for Blitzy outside. Don’t freak out. It’s just a dark, freaky, abandoned building. Nothing scary about that.”

_Liar,_ a voice nagged inside Bumblebee’s processor. He told it to buzz off.

They had walked down a set of stairs to get on this level in the first place—Bumblebee remembered that much, at least. All he had to do was look for signs indicating the location of the stairs, and he’d be back on ground level. _Easy,_ Bumblebee told himself, creeping forward a few steps, flashlight swinging frantically toward each dark doorway. _Easy peasy. Don’t worry. Signs. Gotta find signs._

Every door looked the same, save for the occasional numbers carved into plagues above their frames, and it didn’t take long for the panic to set in. Bumblebee had _sworn_ he’d already walked past room G-1384, but maybe it’d been G-1484. He couldn’t remember. Everything was rusty and messy and crumbling, and that Primus-forsaken dripping sound was audible once again.

Why did he feel so _watched?_ Bumblebee spun around, hoping to see Blitzwing lurking behind him, but was met with even more darkness, darkness that seemed to be following him, closing in, smothering more and more of his light.

“Blitzwing?” he squeaked, afraid to speak too loudly. “This isn’t funny anymore, come on.”

No response. Just a steady _drip, drip, drip._

“Blitzwing…?”

_Drip._

“I’m never going on a date with you again… fragging hell.”

_Drip. Drip._

Bumblebee looked behind him once again, gasping, _completely sure_ that something had just touched his back, but he saw absolutely nothing. His spark thumped so hard against his chest that he feared it may burst out, splattering the walls with his innards. His flashlight trembled, the light shaking as he stared down the hall, biting his lip so hard that it ached.

He decided to move in the other direction, his plating clattering against itself as he shook, each footstep a million times louder than it should have been. The dripping sound got quieter, then louder again, then quieter, then louder. Where _was_ he?”

_I’m gonna die down here,_ he thought, terrified. _I’m gonna die and a ghost is gonna wear my armor and terrorize the entire planet._

He was certain that he was moving in the wrong direction, but turning around was of no help. Bumblebee eventually stopped walking entirely, staring at the plaque above a door that read G-1384.

Had he already walked past that? Or was it G-1484?

He stood on the tips of his pedes to peer into the room, hoping that it had some sort of landmark that would be more memorable, trying to see past the all-encompassing darkness that filled the room. It seemed to be mostly empty—a rickety berth in the corner, a crumpled pile of metal that may have been a table smashed against a wall. Bumblebee shuddered, not wanting to know how the table had gotten into such a state or why the walls had old Cybertronian carved into them.

Bumblebee sighed, deciding that weird letters would be easy enough to remember. _Better than nothing,_ he thought, lowering himself back to normal height and preparing to turn around.

Before he could, something grabbed him around the waist _hard._

And Bumblebee screamed louder than he ever had in his life.

He immediately dropped to the ground, shrieking and covering his helm, his horn blaring viciously as his own yells of panic shook the walls. His flashlight dropped out of his hand and shattered, exploding into a million pieces that sprinkled across the concrete. 

“Don’t hurt me!” he screamed, curling into a panicked ball on the ground. “I didn’t mean to invade your space! I-I was just—”

Then he heard the cackling.

Bumblebee gasped and unfurled from his fetal position, staring at Blitzwing as the triple changer roared with laughter above him. “Oh, I _got_ you!” Blitzwing cheered, wiping a tear from his own face. “I got you _so good!_”

It took a moment for Bumblebee to regain his composure, his spark still pounding, vents clicking and whirring as he tried to catch a ventilation. “You—” he wheezed, pointing a shaking finger at his hysterical boyfriend. “You—you—you—you scared the _frag_ out of me, you _aft!_”

“I _know!_” Blitzwing screamed gleefully. “It was _great!_”

Bumblebee felt too weak to stand, his waist still twitching where Blitzwing had grabbed him as though the touch had been electric. He wanted to berate Blitzwing, to really rip into him for nearly giving him a spark attack, but he only managed one sentence in a pathetically squeaky voice.

“Can… can we go now?”

Blitzwing giggled for at least a few more minutes, clearly very proud of himself, before nodding and leaning down to pat Bumblebee condescendingly on the helm. “Yes, whiny bug,” he said happily. “We can go now. Wanna watch scary movies at home?”

“I hate you,” Bumblebee grumbled, taking the servo that Blitzwing offered and clambering to his pedes. “I literally hate you _so much._”

“I know,” Blitzwing said warmly, still grinning audial to audial. “I love you too.”

Bumblebee’s spark slowly returned to its normal pulsing speed, comforted by the servo wrapped around his own, though still quite annoyed at the grinning asshole practically skipping next to him. The hallways felt much less dark with Blitzwing next to him, but the feeling of being watched hadn’t quite gone away.

“You really don’t feel that?” Bumblebee said, relief washing over his spark as he saw a faded sign pointing toward the far hallway with a staircase crudely sketched onto it.

“Feel what, buggy?” Blitzwing asked.

“That—I don’t know, that ‘being watched’ feeling?” Bumblebee asked. “You don’t feel that at all?”

“Nope,” Blitzwing said. “You’re just scaring yourself. Ghosts aren’t real, remember? Only scary thing down here is me!”

Blitzwing laughed to himself. Bumblebee was not amused, glancing over his shoulder once again.

_Wham._

Both of them froze immediately, though Bumblebee found it far more easy to be skeptical. He wrenched his servo from Blitzwing’s, folding his arms angrily over his chest.

“You got me once, okay?” he snapped. “Isn’t that enough?”

Blitzwing’s face spun to blue with a _whirr,_ his single optic meeting Bumblebee’s, filled with confusion.

“That wasn’t me,” he said slowly.

“Oh, ha, ha,” Bumblebee said sarcastically. “I bet you have Lugnut waiting in that morgue shelf, don’t you? That’s why you wanted me to stick my arm in there? So he’d grab me? You’re an aft, you know that?”

“Bumblebee, I’m serious,” Blitzwing said. “That _wasn’t me._ It’s just us down here.”

A knife of panic stabbed violently into Bumblebee’s spark as he saw the earnest concern in Blitzwing’s optics, and he latched onto the triple changer instantly, shaking all over again. “For real?” he said. “Then what was—”

_Wham._

Much, much closer this time.

“Oh, frag no,” Bumblebee whispered. “This is totally you. You’re just messing with me. Stop lying.”

“I’m _not,_” Blitzwing said irritably.

“Then what _is that?_”

“How should I know? Maybe it’s another explorer? _Hello?_”

Blitzwing called out the last word, and Bumblebee immediately shuddered when he felt something graze across his shoulder. He drew a rattling breath and swatted at his tire, shuddering as an icy chill raced through his plating.

“What was that?” he asked shrilly. “What was—”

“Shush!” Blitzwing hissed. “I need to listen!”

“Something just touched me! _Something just touched me!_”

“You’re panicking. Calm down. _Hello?_”

Blitzwing’s voice echoed through the halls before dropping into silence, a thick, deafening silence that made Bumblebee’s plating crawl. They waited for a few moments, Bumblebee’s hand tightening around Blitzwing’s, trying to staunch his vicious trembling.

“_Boo._”

The single word sounded as though it had been spoken directly into Bumblebee’s audial, and he shrieked once again, his terror mingling with a panicked shout from Blitzwing. Neither of them bothered to ask if the other had heard the voice—within milliseconds, they were scrambling over one another, running as fast as they could toward the staircase, all sense of bravery abandoned as their pedes pounded against the ground.

They didn’t stop running until they had scrambled up the stairs, through the foyer, and vaulted through the shattered window. And they kept running until the building was out of sight, both of their vents heaving, pistons aching, hydraulics hissing.

“You—” Bumblebee wheezed, still jogging toward their sky-high apartment, “—are _never_—planning a date night—_ever again._”

Blitzwing nodded feverishly. “Agreed,” he panted.

* * *

Prowl chuckled to himself, slipping back through the wall he’d drifted through, gently replacing his pipe back against the wall. 

“Idiots,” he said, quite pleased with himself.

Maybe someday he’d do something useful with the ghostly Allspark form he’d been given. But for now, scaring those two morons was nothing if not entertaining.


End file.
